Finders Keepers
by OyHumbug
Summary: When the sins of Jason Quartermaine are visited upon Jason Morgan, Elizabeth Webber leaves her victim in a very precarious position.


**HHFC#3: Linus: "You heard about fury and a woman scorned, haven't you?"  
Charlie Brown: "Yes, I guess I have."  
Linus: "Well, that's nothing compared to the fury of a woman who's been cheated out of tricks or treats." – **_**It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown**_

**Finders Keepers**

There were two things in life that little, seven year old Elizabeth Webber enjoyed: art and control. Art was easy. It was the one thing in her life that she was good at and her older siblings were not. When she was painting or drawing, everything else disappeared. She forgot the fact that her parents seemed to treat her as an obligation, it suddenly didn't matter that, in everyone else's eyes, she didn't measure up to pretty and perfect Sarah, and, perhaps, most importantly, she simply took pleasure in the endeavor.

As for her love of control, well, the second grader mused that it came from constantly being pushed aside. While she couldn't control how her parents felt about her or whether or not they wanted to spend time with her, she could control her own actions and emotions, so everything she did, down to the simplest things like brushing her teeth and tying her shoes, were rote for the child, precise, to the letter, and Halloween, for the curly haired brunette, was no different.

In fact, it allowed her an opportunity to explore the very two things that shaped her existence the most. Creatively, the 31st of October was a wonderful holiday in Elizabeth's eyes. Not only could she design her own costumes every year, but she could also render them as tributes to various artists and works of art from the past that she admired. When she was five, she had dressed up as Pablo Picasso, even going so far as to beg and plead with her parents until they allowed her to use papier-mâché to create a mask with only one ear. The year before she had walked around silently the entire night, her face contorted into a horrendous, mock scream while long, dark robes trailed out behind her. That had been fun. And, then, on that particular evening, she had dressed up as the Mona Lisa, carting around a frame to surround her face while she smiled demurely as if she knew a secret that no one else was privy to. And even though most children and adults even, for that matter, didn't understand or even recognize her costumes, Elizabeth liked them nonetheless.

Following trick or treat came the controlled part of the evening. Every year she would return home, dump out her heaping, overflowing bag of candy goodness, and begin the meticulous process of organizing, arranging, and categorizing her loot. Chocolate was separated from fruit flavored candy, soft and hard morsels were piled together, and everything was color coded. Down and down the list of prerequisites the seven year old would go until every single piece of candy was in its proper place, and, then, finally, she would catalogue her treats, jotting down in a notebook exactly what she had managed to come home with. Although the process was time consuming, she was partial to it, especially since Sarah had no patience for such an endeavor and Steven found her just plain ridiculous.

However, during that particular Halloween, she was interrupted mid-process. "Elizabeth, dear," her grandmother Audrey crooned softly through her slightly parted bedroom doorway. While her parents were away for a two week mission, she and her older siblings were staying with their Grandma Audrey and Grandpa Steve. None of the three children had complained. Her brother had been ecstatic to see his friends from the summer before again, Sarah, who had recently started to wear a training bra, was also interested in spending time with the Quartermaine children, and she had just been excited to get away from her parents, as horrible as that sounded.

"It's time to wash up and get ready for bed. You've had a long night. Surely you're tired."

"Not really, Grams," the petite artist responded, meeting her grandmother's warm gaze. "Besides, I really need to finish my cataloging."

Smiling indulgently, Audrey nodded, apparently acquiescing with the seven year old's unspoken request. "Alright," she finally relented, moving to shut the door firmly closed as she continued to give her consent. "You can stay up a little longer, but, please, just in case you start to feel sleepy, get ready for bed first."

Already moving towards her suitcase to pull out her pajamas, Elizabeth nodded her concurrence, rather looking forward to the idea of being out of her less than ideally comfortable costume. Besides, it would only take her moments to wash up and brush her teeth, and then she could get back to the task at hand.

Five minutes later, she returned to her designated bedroom at the Hardy family home, ready to finish what she had just previously started, but what she found was certainly not what she had been expecting. Where once her precious candy had lain strewn and partially sorted on the carpeted floor, there now sat several crumpled and hastily discarded empty wrappers around a supremely confident and arrogant Jason Quartermaine, and all her other candy was missing.

"Thanks for the snack, Lizzie," he taunted, laughing at her crushed and saddened expression.

Biting her lip to will away the tears of frustration and disappointment, the seven year old asked, "what did you do with all my candy?"

"Finders keepers, Short Stuff," the no-good, spoiled rotten brat retorted as he stood up and sauntered towards her and the doorway she was still standing in, frozen with shock and outrage.

As he passed by her, his elbow caught her in the shoulder, knocking her a few steps to the side, but, still, Elizabeth refused to grant him the satisfaction of seeing her react. Instead, she merely continued to stand there, even as his laughter taunted her all the way down the hall until he reached her brother's room. However, as the door shut behind the younger of the two Quartermaine heirs, she slumped to the floor, kicking her own door shut with the heel of her slippered foot.

It wasn't fair, but that did not mean that she would run to her grandparents to tattle on their guest. The little curly haired brunette had better manners than that, and she downright refused to give Jason that kind of power over her. Rather, in that very moment, even at the tender age of seven, Elizabeth Imogene Webber started planning her revenge, and, when she finally exacted her vengeance, be it in a year's time or ten, Jason Quartermaine wouldn't know what hit him.

What had started off as a terrible night – Carly had practically brow beat him into attending her newly annual costumed Halloween party – was suddenly looking up. Leaning against his desk, Sonny's desk, Jason smirked to himself as he watched the beautiful firecracker standing across from him advance in his direction. It was one thing to seduce a woman into his bed, but it was a whole different story to be the prey, and he was not above allowing a woman to take advantage of him. In fact, he preferred it.

The easier it was for the enforcer to find some enjoyment in his rather sparse and routine life, the better, so, if that meant that some blue eyed devil of a woman approached him at Jake's, bought him a beer, and then proceeded to beat him in a game of pool, then so be it. And, if that same woman insisted that they leave the bar together but not go back to his place or hers because that was just too personal, who was he to argue with that kind of logic? After all, he wasn't looking for happily ever after, not that he believed such a thing to even exist, and he didn't want some chick falling apart when she realized he had absolutely no intentions of being her knight in shining black leather.

Luckily, for him, the siren he was planning on bedding that night was not that kind of woman, and, even if she was, she had more leather on that evening than he could ever hope of wearing.

Spike heeled leather boots fit snuggly against her small and slender feet, up her shapely calves, and onwards and upwards until her mid thigh. From there, there was a generous proportion of bare, creamy thigh before his hungry gaze met the edge of her leather miniskirt. Her stomach was uncovered, deliciously so, and she wore a revealing black, leather bra with a tight, unzipped leather jacket over top of it. Hell, even her jewelry was leather, for she had thin straps of leather tied around her wrists and neck. She said it was because it was Halloween, and, on Halloween, every self-respecting woman allowed her inner bad girl to come out and play, but Jason believed she just had a leather fetish. Either option, though, worked… and worked well… for him.

As she finally approached him, he spread his legs for her to settle between them, and the little vixen shocked the hell out of him when she pushed everything off the desk behind him. In question, he raised a sandy colored brow, but she just laughed in response, the rich, melodic twinkling of her voice washing over him and causing his ever increasing anticipation to simply further mount.

Mesmerized, he watched as she slowly, seductively untied first the leather strap around her left wrist and then her right. "Now," the brunette instructed, leveling him with a playful glare. "Lay down on the desk." He obliged, quite willingly, stripping off his blue t-shirt on the way, and he was rewarded for both his obedience and his initiative with a sexy little appreciative meow. Once he was in position, though, the petite firecracker didn't try to kiss him or even return the favor by stripping off one of her own pieces of clothing. Instead, she walked around the desk and began to tie his wrists, first the left and then the right, to the top desk drawers. "This could get a little wild," she warned him, amusement present in her silky smooth voice, "and I wouldn't want you to get away from me mid-trick."

At that point, he was too far gone to even register her words, because, otherwise, the utterance of trick would have raised his alarms. It was one thing for Jason Morgan to be seduced, but it was a whole other matter for him to pick up a hooker. While other men in the organization enjoyed the company of a call girl sometimes, he never did, and he certainly wouldn't have started doing so that evening, no matter how much he wanted the woman before him, and want her he most certainly did.

The string around her neck came off, too, and, before he could protest, it was wrapped around his ankles, effectively binding his legs together. He was about to question her intentions, to bark an order for her to untie him when he felt her lithe, hot little body slither up his own. She rubbed against him like a kitten seeking attention, totally wanton and at abandon. By the time she had moved up to straddle his waist, the junction of her thighs resting _just so _in _just _the right place, any and every objection he formerly had completely disappeared.

Biting her lip, the blue eyed beauty roamed her hands across his body, feathering her delicate fingers over each and every plane of his chest and abdomen. Her touch was like heaven. The closest thing Jason could equate to it was the first drag from a perfectly chilled bottle of beer after a long, hard day spent riding at speeds more than slightly dangerous on his Harley, but not even that was close enough to describe the pleasure the brunette minx spanning his torso was currently bringing him.

Just when he thought he could take her teasing and baiting no longer, he heard the distinctive pop of his jeans button, followed quickly by the clicking teeth of his zipper as the woman he was about to sleep with unzipped his pants. The freedom her undressing brought to his aching, need filled body swept through him, and Jason had to bite back of a moan of approval, not that the stranger needed an auditory reminder of just how much he was enjoying her complete and undivided attention. With the way his hips were bucking, he knew she knew just how much he wanted her.

"Easy there, Tiger," the smug vixen instructed him, sliding further down his body so that she was now on his thighs and her mouth could hover over his erection. "We don't want things to be over before they really get started. Let's take this nice and slow," she practically purred.

Too bad he knew better. There was no way the hellfire on his lap could play nice, and he knew that, at least for their first time, once they really got started, nothing between them would be slow. But he didn't argue with her, not only because coherent words, at that point, were really quite impossible for him but also because his predictions were unnecessary. Before long, he would show her exactly what he meant.

She blew hot air into the folds of his boxer-briefs, enticing him, if at all possible, even more, and the action caused the hitman to struggle against his bonds. His effort was wasted, though, for the leather straps did not budge, and he only hoped that, after round one, he would get the opportunity to return the favor and tie up the woman currently having her way with him.

Half way into that lovely little fantasy, though, everything stopped. The feisty brunette climbed off of him. There was no more petting, no more seduction, and certainly no more undressing. Lifting his head up off the desk as far as his restraints allowed him, Jason followed her form as she flittered around the office, ransacking cabinets and drawers as she searched through and sometimes confiscated what she believed to be his belongings.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Finders keepers, Short Stuff," she retorted snidely, casting a spiteful glance in his prone direction.

Pausing at her words, the blonde tilted his head in angered thought. Just what the hell did _that _mean?

Instead of asking her what the less than favorable nickname referred to, he, instead, queried, "who the hell are you?"

She pivoted, facing him with bundles of cash in both her tiny yet oh-so-talented hands. "You don't remember me," and, if Jason didn't know better, he would have believed her to be disappointed.

"Uh, no," he replied. "If I did, we wouldn't be here right now. I never go back for seconds."

"So, the name Elizabeth Webber doesn't mean anything to you? It doesn't ring any bells?"

"Who the hell is Elizabeth Webber," the enforcer roared, pulling, once again, futilely at his restraints.

The now angry brunette threw her stolen possessions into her purse before answering, "figure it out, asshole, and, then, maybe this evening will make a little more sense to you. See you around, Jason."

And, just like that, the firecracker disappeared, leaving him bound and half dressed on his boss' desk.

So much for the night improving after all.


End file.
